2am-jasper - Tumblr blog

[2am-jasper]

The violence I feel could destroy a man with a mere glance.

[2am-jasper]

Do you see it? This yearning, the aching I have. It pours out of me, to the point my pages are crusted with salt from my tears and they stick with my blood. Will you read my pages and find yourself in them. Twin souls both sharing their pain and longing for this empty moment. Are you my reflection or just a distortion in the bottom of my cup? Is your ink written the same as mine? With tears and laughter all in one. I hope it's not but that is only just that; a hope. 

[2am-jasper]

Every time one of you, gives me likes or even a view. Makes me worried because my words, are only filled with pain and hurt. Letters that rip skin and bone. All written with a dark tone. So please when you see my world, know that I’m here, you are heard. Let these poems pass like water. Cold and clear and not here to bother. I see you and you see me. And while we lay here feeling the tragedy. You may be alone but you are with me, passages and prose, I am one that will always know, the thorns that trap us will not grow. Let me say thank you, and hold you close. Let us be calm and rest and leave these notes.

[2am-jasper]

Have you buried yourself?

Ravens watching vigil as you dig. Have you laid down in that pit, knowing you won’t get back up? Left your warm soft bed in replacement for the cold wet earth.

Sleeping deeply six feet below.

Will you rot here on this hill?

Did you choose your grave?

Leaves and vines intertwined with your ribs and skull, and flowers blooming over you. Worms and birds visiting and taking pieces of you for themselves.

Did you bury yourself?

[2am-jasper]

The humming numbness. The hours that pass. Some part of me wants this, hopes it will last. Hollow stomach, breaking mind. Laying here rotting. Stuck in time. Fragments of peace all set in sleep. Kept under covers, wishing for relief. Clock keeps ticking, counting out the minutes. Lethargic and heavy, decomposing here between the sheets. Writing words that most won’t hear, writing things just for me. Ink stained paper, teardrops soaked, I am the creator, these words are my home.

[2am-jasper]

I’m so bitter. Bitter about my reality. Bitter about me. I used to not like dark chocolate. It was too bitter. Now I cannot stand milk chocolate. It’s too sweet. To overwhelming with its sugar. I’m not used to it anymore. Oranges and dark chocolate. I used to eat that fancy sweet by the bar now I can’t stand the coy flavor on my tongue. Cookies taste odd to me. I’m able to taste the flour, the butter, the egg. My senses take each ingredient separate and catalog it in my mind, instead of all at once. Food is just ingredients. Cilantro, garlic, ginger, seasoning and herbs used for it. And I study it without knowing. The plastic taste of bottled water. The syrup from a can of soda.  Sweets hurt my teeth. Make them ache. My grandfather couldn’t taste sugar his body to old and worn to sense it. I wonder if I’ll loose that sense too. I’m so bitter like black coffee, like burnt sugar, I’m too bitter for most people.

[2am-jasper]

The road is long and the road is hard. Sweltering heat and wolves that follow, going up mountains slipping on cliffs. The wind is cold and the rain that pelts. Snakes slithering underfoot and water running short. Days on end and no path to follow. Carving the way for others who still drown in the deep below. In the end I will look back amazed at how far I came. And with sore blistered feet I will be home with arms that hold me and whisper my name.

[2am-jasper]

Bed rotting isn’t a trend. It isn’t fun because there’s no end. It started slow like melting ice, and then you stay here frozen in time. You thought it help but it just hinders. Now you are stuck here with roots that wither. Chained to blankets and an aching back. With bedsores and limp legs, and all of the trash. Bed rotting is not a trend that should be done. Because when you rot here and think that you won. You find yourself entangled with vine and the dirt. All because someone else said that it doesn’t hurt.

[2am-jasper]

Healing is messy. It’s painful and itchy. It’s not clean and quick. It scars and bleeds. Healing isn’t linear. You get sick and it slows. You scratch and it weeps again. You pick and mess up and fall. Healing isn’t fast. It’s slow and minimal. Bit by bit. Blood cell by blood cell. Healing leaves a mark. An ache in your heart. Healing isn’t forgetting. It keeps and tugs at the back of your mind. Theres blood and pus and pain and bone. It’s not just something that heals on its own. You have to grow and change and want and evolve. You are never done healing, there’s always another scratch or cut or something else to solve. Only for you to wake up one day and the mark is gone. Healing is messy. Healing isn’t kind. But it mends your heart better each time.

[2am-jasper]

Bring me to the water. Let me feel the waves. Bring me to the water, before I go down to my grave. Sit by me in the water, smell the sea and the sand. Bring me to the water, the salty breeze in my hair. Hold me in the water, wanna feel like myself again. I wanna float in the water, feel weightless again, I wanna drown in the water, wanna die by my own hand. Send me to the water, let it soak into my skin. Let me bathe in the water, let it wash off my sins. Wanna be in the water, let me be dragged to the deep. Wanna lie in the water, wanna drift off to sleep. Bring me to the water, where the sea is my friend. Bring me to the water. Let me have my own end.

[2am-jasper]

Would I be missed? Would you cry? Would silent tears steak down your face, mumbles and mutters asking why? Would I be missing? Would I have been found? Would you send me to the ground? Would you be angry? Would you be kind? Would you let me? Would you be blind? Can I let go, fall off this ledge? Can I swallow the bleach instead? Can I crash, can I drown? Would you miss me if I wasn’t around?

[2am-jasper]

Picking pomegranates off the floor. Lovers hands held no more. Memories and Melodies passing by. Raindrops pour out from the sky. A deep and mournful and loathing goodbye. You lost a piece of your heart. I lost a piece of my mind. Did this ever happen? Were you ever mine? Perhaps it was too much to ask, from someone who only loved the divine.

[2am-jasper]

Walk with me, along the river. Pay no heed to those who follow. Sing with me in the meadows, flowers blooming in our melodies. Sleep near me, the room quiet, night watches over us soft and silent. Dance with me, the forest joyful, spinning leaves and laughter loud. Stay with me, up in the mountains, let’s feel peace under the clouds. Talk to me, let us converse with curiosity, talk of life and love and all of the possibilities.

[2am-jasper]

do you cry?

Do you hold yourself? As tears drip down your face, as hot sobs escape your lips. Does your breath stutter with the rising emotions? Your throat tightening with the words you wish you could shout? Scream? Do you lie there in a heap of misery? Do you cry? Do you feel?

[2am-jasper]

Cracked lips and dry throat. Mind hazed and eyes close. Legs curled and I feel like a ghost. People dressed in white cloaks. Grave made and soft earth. Nails thin and torn apart. Hands folded on my shirt, get one last look, our roles reversed. Prayers said and mouths cursed. Lower me gently into the ground. A tomb of a poet and unwritten works. Pages and pages of my hurt. Leave me here undisturbed. I’ll be worth something more here in the dirt.

[2am-jasper]

That’s just how the day goes, this feeling ebbs and flows. Beautiful mornings and dreary nights. Being with friends yet so far from yourself. Let this emotion come to a close, was this elation just a hoax? Laying here, heart in my throat. Can’t we end this on a high note? Dusk dark out my window, grappling with my moods in staccato.

[2am-jasper]

ink stained pages of those who know. Embers of letters continue to grow. A soft and sweet and kind hello. Written with care in the dark below. And when these feelings hit me like a blow, as least there’s something to show for all my woe. Passages and lyrics all with prose, slowly starting to overflow. Poems come to me like polar snow, covering everything and everyone and all those who know.